


One More Night

by Half_SubmergedinPurgatory



Series: Carry Me Home [3]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: F/F, F/M, Heavy Drinking, Homophobia, I swear it has a happy ending, Self-Hatred, noncon bc Amon is drunk off his ass, predatory behaviour, protip the noncon is between Amon and Itori
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 08:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3283640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Half_SubmergedinPurgatory/pseuds/Half_SubmergedinPurgatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Amon's one night stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Night

Powerful speakers blasted bass vibrations from the doorway of the club to where Amon stood across the street. He paced in time with the beat, letting his racing heart sync with it as he tried to soothe his outrage.   
  
  
He slowly loosened his tightly clenched fists and tried to ignore the tugging sensation as his fingers pulled away from his palms ( _his nails had cut into them and blood had dried like glue_ ). Amon knew he had to remove any external signs of his distress. He was intimidating when he was angry and would only terrify anyone he approached tonight.   
  
  
If he failed in his mission again, he wouldn’t be able to return to work normally.   
  
  
Amon tugged at his bangs in impotent frustration, the memory of his dismissal from work still stinging him. What gave **_Akira_** any right to- he cut that train of thought off. She was his partner and he had been acting off. She had every right to express her concern.

  
Earlier that day he had been out on assignment. He hadn’t been sleeping well and he’d lost his motivation quite some time ago. He had been **_distracted_** ( _self-loathing and sleepless nights will do that to you_ ).   
  
  
Amon and Akira were meant to deal with some small-fry ghoul, a little thing without even the dubious honour of a nickname. They had cornered it easily enough before everything went to shit. For some reason, Amon hadn’t expected the scraggly old hag to launch herself at him so **_quickly_**.   
  
  
His quinque should’ve already been out ( _why didn’t he draw the second he saw her?_ ). He hadn’t reacted on time and got punched in the chest so hard he had felt his heart stop ( _he didn’t want the damn thing anyway_ ). **_He had deserved it_**. Amon had to keep reminding himself of that, because what happened next pissed him off so badly.   
  
  
Akira had turned to him with a face of utter disbelief and demanded that he “get it together” or be forced to take time off work. Amon worried that he might’ve spat some insult back at her ( _he can’t really recall but since he seemed to be regaining all the negative traits of his childhood, he probably did_ ) because the next thing he knew she had called Shinohara and told him everything.   
  
  
Then the phone was pressed to his ear and his superior’s irritated voice was telling him to go home. Just like that. Worse, Shinohara had demanded that he be calmer in the morning or he’d be kicked out again.  
  


Amon had returned home for awhile. He’d showered, changed, and paced a hole into his apartments floor. He was a man of action however, not inaction. He couldn’t bear the idea of trying to wait out his anger. Amon knew why he couldn’t focus ( _Donato’s laughter had burrowed so deep inside him it felt like it was blackening his very soul_ ) and he wanted it to ** _stop_**.   
  
  
He wanted everything to stop. These feelings, this frustration, the control Donato had over his every movement even now - he wanted to end it.   
  
  
Imbued with a determination he rarely managed to muster ( _because it was wrong_ ), Amon had made his way down to a local dance bar.   
  


Finally, Amon gathered the last of his ( _flagging_ ) courage and, bolstered with undirected anger, he entered the club. He pressed through the throngs of people and made a beeline for the bar. Thunking heavily into a barstool, he quickly ordered his first whiskey sour of the night ( _he needed to be drunk for this…no, it just made it easier to talk_ ). Women came and women went, flitting around him with sweet smiles and kind, soothing words.  
  
  
He hadn’t engaged any of them ( _don’t take advantage of them_ ) and so they had wandered away, some returning to buy him a drink ( _“you look like you could use it”_ ). 3 whiskey sours and a shot of something later, a man ran a hand down his thigh and he nearly cried with relief when it elicited no reaction in him other than distaste. His dopey smile was misinterpreted as consent and the next thing he knew a sandy-haired stranger was sitting in his lap.   
  
  
Amon was getting uncomfortable ( _not scared, he definitely wasn’t afraid_ ) and cast his eyes around for help ( _he wasn’t familiar with how to refuse men. All the women seemed to just understand and leave_ ). His searching gaze was swiftly met by that of a woman with wine-coloured hair and a daringly cut black dress ( _somebody he should’ve noticed before now_ ).   
  
  
She grinned at him in a way that made his hair stand on end and took powerful strides to be at his side in seconds. 

  
“Darling, why is there an unfamiliar man on your lap? Honestly, I’m only 2 hours late. I didn’t think you’d find somebody else _that_ quickly.” 

   
She purred and batted at the stranger’s hands. The man looked deeply embarrassed and stood up awkwardly ( _his erection was obvious now, tenting his jeans, and seemed to mortify him further_ ) before rushing away to the bathroom. Amon swivelled his head away from the blonde man’s escape and tried to look at his saviour. His view was obstructed though by a tall glass of bourbon.

  
“I think you deserve this after going through all of that.”

  
They chatted for awhile by the bar. He was grateful for her intervention, even if the way she smiled at him didn’t look quite right ( _her eyes never crinkled and her teeth seemed too sharp_ ). His tongue also got looser with time, courtesy of round after round of drinks she purchased.  
  
  
Eventually they were drunk together, swaying with the bass beat somewhere in the middle of the dance floor, and Amon was too drunk to be angry anymore. He was also too drunk to shut the fuck up and told her all about his little mission.

  
“I don’t want Donut toobay right, y’knowww? I’ve nuvva tried to…do stuff wiv a laday before. So who knows?” 

  
He blurted as they collapsed against a wall together ( _mostly him collapsing, but he had a good grip on her shoulder_ ).

  
“Never!?”

  
She had cried out, astonishment showing on her face ( _but not in her eyes_ ). Amon shook his head adamantly and she burst into a fit of giggles.

  
“Well, we need to fix that, don’t we? I’ll screw you tonight.” 

  
Amon had frowned at her and chastised her lowly, 

  
“I dan’t even know er name!”

  
She smiled at him maniacally, amusement sparking in her eyes as she replied, 

  
“It’s Itori. Let’s go then.”

 

 ~~~~~~~~

 

They had taken a cab to get to her apartment and Amon had protested feebly the entire time. He warned her of his foul mood and told her that he’d hate to hurt her by accident. He confessed that he wasn’t attracted to her and that he didn’t think he could even respond to her advances. She had rebuffed his every complaint with ease and confidence and left him sputtering, unsure of himself.   
  
  
He found himself floundering even more when she told him he could “calm down” with her, implying that she “liked it rough” and that he needed to “cut loose”. Betraying his mind, he found his tongue agreeing with her. His traitorous body continues to ignore his anxieties as it traipses up the stairs to Itori’s apartment and begins to shuck its clothing.  
  
  
In bed all his muddled mind could comprehend was that this wasn’t satisfactory. Amon was a bit of an old-fashioned man ( _unsurprising, what with the Catholic upbringing_ ) and plunging his penis into a stranger was not extremely fulfilling.   
  
  
In fact, it left him feeling oddly hollow. Then the drink filled up that hollowness and in him bloomed a burning shame ( _why couldn’t this be good? Why couldn’t he enjoy this? Why_ ** _why WHY?_** ).   
  
  
His thrusts grew rougher, harder, more punishing as he lost himself in his thoughts, detached from his body's actions ( _though he could hear Itori’s groans of pained pleasure_ ). He bit at her neck because he couldn’t kiss her ( _it disgusted him_ ) and pinned her wrists above her head so she couldn’t touch him.   
  
  
Amon wanted to hate her for encouraging this. He wanted to hate her for not being good enough, for not magically bestowing pleasure upon him. He wanted to **_so badly_**.   
  
  
Still, even as she came and he did not, he couldn’t despise her ( _though her manipulation of a drunk was very unethical_ ). She was clearly tiring and he knew now that he would be unable to finish and he was very sure that would hurt her feelings.   
  
  
Desperate to spare the last of their mutual dignity, Amon tried to dredge up the memory of the last time he’d been awake and erect. He was too far gone to keep his thoughts at bay by the time he realized what he’d done and Amon found himself imagining Kaneki under him ( _his white hair cleaned of blood and his face, oddly still masked, looking up at him with post-orgasmic bliss_ ).

  
His grip on Itori’s wrists slipped and his hips stuttered as a wave of sensation overtook him. Her hands ran down his ribs ( _black nails trailing over the skin and oh there was cum on Kaneki’s stomach and his fingers were knotting into Amon’s hair and pulling him down for a kiss and-_ )   
  


“Koutarou…”

  
Came Itori’s long drawn out moan before she kissed him.   
  
  
He was happy she did. It had cut off the name that had left his lips right as he came.

 

~~~~~~~~

  

It was only when Amon had Kaneki’s warm body pressed against the cold brick wall of some dingy alley that the fog he’d been walking around in seemed to clear. The self-loathing and shame condensed like rainfall and fell to the ground beneath him when he caught the look in the half-ghoul’s eyes.   
  
  
Even like this, pinned against his will, threatened by an investigator and with a quinque at his throat, Kaneki recognized him and his eyes softened with something like affection. Something like the trust he’d given him the first time they met.   
  
  
As they drifted apart and gravitated back together again throughout their conversation ( _as loaded with tension as it was_ ), it occurred to him that these feelings weren’t something that Donato could control. After all, he’d never met Kaneki. He couldn’t have put the velvety heat in his eyes, the gentle caress in his tone, or have created any of the other things Amon found himself dying to see, hear, and feel more of.   
  
  
Amon felt a twitch of something when he touched the other man, the inkling of something mutual, just for a moment before they defended each other’s lives and separated once again.   
  
  
If Kaneki felt this way as well…then this was something he could love too. 

 


End file.
